


The Beast of the Horde

by Cloudiana



Series: Full Moon Fever [6]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Catra is She-Ra, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/F, Life in the Horde (She-Ra), Magicat Catra (She-Ra), Magicatra AU, Princess Catra (She-Ra), Protective Adora (She-Ra), Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner's A+ Parenting, Sorceress Catra, Werewolf Adora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29742687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudiana/pseuds/Cloudiana
Summary: Years ago, a Horde patrol rescued a small girl from a ravaged village, destroyed by Wolves. Soon after, they discovered she had been turned into one of those monsters. But Hordak believed that everyone should have the chance to prove themselves in his Empire, regardless of any defects they may possess.So, the girl grew up among them, desperate to prove herself and protect her best friend, Shadow Weaver’s apprentice: Catra. Adora would become their greatest weapon, their greatest assets, and someday their second greatest foe.She would become . . . The Beast of the Horde.Or, scenes of Werewolf Adora, and She-Ra Catra, growing up in the Horde.
Relationships: Adora & Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Catra & Lonnie (She-Ra)
Series: Full Moon Fever [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045827
Comments: 57
Kudos: 83





	1. The Fall of Adora

** — — — — — 9 — — — — — **

“Em Hotep.” The words leaked out of the girl’s mouth like dying ones: desperately, as if the tabby girl staring down at her was her last hope; the only chance to escape the darkness that still gathered at the edges of her vision. “Ir Hotep. Ir Hotep.”

This place didn’t smell right. Smell? Since when was that so sharp? The air was sterile and sharp, with a hint of rust underneath. Instead of the familiar hum of the Whispering Woods, she heard a rhythmless clanking, dulled by miles of metal walls. At least it wasn’t all smoke and blood anymore.

Everything hurt. Everything felt wrong. The only thing that didn’t hurt was keeping her eyes fixed on this girl’s. Something about her mismatched eyes let her know that she was safe. She wasn’t alone . . . even if . . . even if everyone was . . . gone. They were all gone.

Her savior’s tail swished. “Hey Rogelio,” she called behind her. “Mine talks weird. You wanna switch buddies?”

“I don’t talk weird,” the girl shot back weakly, trying and failing to prop herself up on the hard infirmary bed, the pain in her shoulder flaring up fiercely. “You’re a Magicat. I’m just saying . . .” Greetings? Peace be with you? Please don’t let me die? “. . . Hi.” She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she knew it was right to say, out of it as she was.

“The heck’s a Magicat?” The other girl questioned, brow furrowed. 

Before she could answer, another figure, taller and darker stalked into her sight. Vision blurred, Adora couldn’t make out any facial features. It was like she was wearing a mask. “Well now,” she purred. “It seems you got a polite one, Catra.”

The shadow woman looked down at her. “We don’t bother with such . . . oh how does Hordak put it? . . . primitive, cultural distinctions in the Horde, recruit. You’d do best to forget them.”

The girl’s eyes, still dulled with pain, grew wide. She glanced around the sterile room. “This is the Evil Horde?”

“Just ‘The Horde’ will do, recruit,” the scary lady snapped. She flinched. “We did save your life after all. Was that an evil thing to do?” The girl shook her head. “Exactly. Your new squadmate will finish your registration. She will be responsible for clearing up any other . . . misconceptions you may be harboring about your new home. The rest should be hammered out of you in Accelerated Acclimation. Otherwise,” she tilted her head like a predator sizing up a wounded animal. “Otherwise, you will be sent to me. And you wouldn’t want to waste my time. Would you?”

Ignoring the pain, she shook her head vigorously. “No ma’am. I won’t.”

The scary lady hummed in approval. “That’s the spirit. You could learn a lot from her attitude, Catra.” She turned to the Magicat, who was clearly resisting the urge to curl in on herself. “Remember, you shall be held responsible for her infractions. So, for both your sakes, try not to rub off on her.” And with that threat, she skulked away. 

The Magicat stood stock still, clutching a clipboard piled up with paperwork in one paw. The girl grabbed the other hand like it was a lifeline. She flinched, but didn’t flick the hand away. Instead, she squeezed back. After a few moments like this, Catra cleared her throat, set the clipboard on the other girl’s knees, and pulled out a pencil.

“My name’s Catra,” she whispered, refusing to let an offhand the shadow lady be the thing that introduced her. “Just stick with me, and you’ll be fine. Now, what’s your family name?”

“I don’t have one. My mom sai—“ she swallowed hard, pushing back the tears. _A last name is just expectations you can’t live up to, she had said sadly one night. Trust me, honey, you’re better off without it_. “I just never had one.”

“Good,” Catra replied. “I can just skip over the whole ‘the Horde is your family now’ section. Just saved you three days at Acc-Acc. You’re welcome.” She crossed out a bunch of lines. “So, what’s your name?”

The other girl sighed. “It’s Adora.”

** — — — — — 13 — — — — — **

As Adora booked it through the vents, half shifted with a bundle of contraband in her jaws, she wondered what she had done to deserve this. By all rights, she should be dead. When the Rebel wolves razed her town, they didn’t seem interested in leaving survivors. Instead, the Horde had taken her in, given her a second chance at surviving. And when her curse was revealed, the Horde didn’t cast her out. They didn’t leave her to the mercy of the monsters who destroyed her home. They let her prove herself. They gave her extra training. They even let her stay with the same squad. 

For as much as the Horde was supposed to be above primitive superstitions, Squad 13 seemed to confirm a lot of them. Bad luck just seemed to follow them around. Rogelio hatched with underdeveloped vocal cords. Catra was saddled with Shadow Weaver’s special interest. Adora had to grow up with that and the whole curse thing. Kyle was Kyle. And Lonnie had to be squad leader of all those weirdos.

Needless to say, the year Squad 13 all turned thirteen, the Force Captains on training duty for their age cohort knew something bad was bound to happen. The bad luck came in the form of a once in a century winter storm knocking out the Fright Zone’s power grid. Pipes burst, and hallways turned into ice rinks. Some of the more well-connected Force Captains suddenly had escort their cadets down to the Crimson Waste or Salineas— just for training purposes, obviously.

Squad 13, however, was stuck in the barracks, crowded together in a single bunk they rigged with blankets to turn into a makeshift tent. With the temperatures well below freezing, they were fighting to keep Rogelio conscious. Besides that, they were hungry. 

The Horde higher ups carefully calculated how many ration bars a cadet needed to survive, then gave them two-thirds of that and left the cadets to either learn to endure an empty stomach or make up the difference by stealing from the weaklings or getting good at raiding the kitchens. And tonight, as the squad member least bothered by the cold, it was Adora’s job to get the squad some supplemental rations on the way back from her late-night wolf training.

That had been the first lesson Catra taught her. In the Horde, there were so many rules that you broke most of them just by breathing. It was by design. The small rules were just an excuse for adults to mete out punishment; and the big ones were meant to be worked around. 

The best way to get by was to keep your head down and not get caught. After she mauled the previous second in command on the night of her first transformation (conveniently paving the way for Shadow Weaver to take the job), Adora lost the chance to ever really keep her head down, but she could still manage the more important part.

It wasn’t a fair system, but Adora understood its purpose. She knew better than anyone what they were up against. The Rebellion was ruthless, cruel, and relentless. If they were going to strike back someday and save Etheria from the Princesses and the Packs, they couldn’t afford to be weak. 

You had to be strong, sneaky, and smart enough to keep yourself out of trouble and your squad safe. Adora could be all of those things — she had to be. With everything the Horde had done for her, being the perfect soldier, the perfect student, and the perfect werewolf (if such a thing existed), was the least she could do to repay them.

That went double for her squad, which was why she was in such a rush, pushing through post-training exhaustion. Between the cold, the recent spike in training intensity, and Shadow Weaver being much shorter with her than usual, Catra was decidedly not in a “teamwork-y” mood. Her worries were confirmed when she finally made it back to their room.

“She gets five more minutes,” Catra’s voice came through the blankets. “After that, I’m done waiting.”

“For the last time,” Lonnie snapped. “We’re not eating Kyle!”

At that moment, Adora poked her head into the makeshift shelter, careful not to let the cold air in. She laid the contraband in the middle, between the three huddled together on one side and Catra sulking alone on the other. She pointed a glare in her friend’s direction. “I wasn’t really gonna eat him,” she groaned, rolling her eyes shifting over to make space. Adora leapt up to join them. “Maybe just his toes, but it’s not like he can feel those right now. He wouldn’t miss them!” Kyle whimpered.

“Ok,” Lonnie said, rummaging through the bundle. “I’ll take this dried meat thing. Stuff like this usually tastes fine. Kyle, you can have the green stuff. Um, Ro, this look good to you?” She held up some trout jerky to the drowsy reptilian, who nodded weakly at the scent. “Great.”

“Hey.” Catra growled. “I wanted that.”

Lonnie shrugged. “If you want first dibs on Kyle, you get last dibs on real food.” She gestured to the dried fruit left over. “There’s still plenty of those weird, tree rations the Rebels like. Besides, you get the Big Floof as a blanket. So quit complaining.” Adora wagged her tail in response. Catra grabbed some of the red ones and huddled up next to the huge, fluffy dork. 

Adora had mastered half shifting years ago. On nights without a full moon, she could turn into her wild wolf form without any hit to her intellect. So, Adora could have turned back if she wanted to, but Catra never got this close when she was human. Besides, the Magicat did need a good space heater in this weather. There were icicles clinging to her fur. So, as she snuggled up for the night, Adora just decided to stay as she was. And as she often did, the wolf wondered what she had done to deserve this.

** — — — — — 14 — — — — — **

As the red lightning coursed through her, the screams died in Adora’s throat. She could barely hear Shadow Weaver through the pain. The words “ungrateful mutt” seemed to come up most often. The restraints burned against her skin, like molten metal poured onto to her flesh; the shock collar most of all.

After month after month after month of going on raids every full moon, she had snapped. Instead of ripping apart another civilian town, she turned on her handlers. If it hadn’t been for the shock collar, they might not have subdued her. In the chaos, the Rebels had turned the Horde back. When the ragged patrol finally made it back to the Fright Zone, the disobedient wolf had been hauled into the Black Garnet chamber in chains for her punishment.

She’d seen Shadow Weaver like this before, but usually her wrath was directed at Catra. Usually the magic stopped before this point. Usually she kept her voice level and menacing. Now, she was screaming; so livid she was unable to keep her composure. It was a nightmare she wouldn’t forget.

Finally, Adora managed to choke the words out. “Please! I’ll go to the front. I’ll fight anyone! I’ll do whatever you want, but please no more raids! No more villages! I can’t hurt them anymore! I can’t do it! I can’t!”

She felt the magic fade, dropping her to the floor. She was still restrained by bolts of red light, but the pain was at least tolerable. A hand rested on her marked shoulder, she flinched, but no new wave of magic hit her. Instead, Shadow Weaver sighed and spoke calmly. “What do you think will happen when I inform Lord Hordak of your . . . decision?”

Adora swallowed hard. “He’ll send me to Beast Island,” she whispered with resignation. At least she wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone there.

Much to her surprise, Shadow Weaver laughed. “And Catra tells me you’re smarter than everyone believes. Beast Island is where Lord Hordak sends _people_ who fail him.” She stalked around her. “So, let me rephrase. What happens to a rabid dog that gets out of control and bites the hand that feeds it?”

The wolf could barely hide her shaking. “I—it” She stammered. “It—“

Shadow Weaver gripped her cheek. “It gets put down,” she said coldly. She brushed a hair behind her ear. “I never imagined you could be so selfish, Adora. Without you, what will happen to Catra? I thought you cared about her.”

The wolf couldn’t keep her voice from cracking. “What do you mean? What would happen to her?” Catra was doing fine before she arrived.

“Lord Hordak has always been fascinated by her aberrant connection with Etherian magic,” she explained. “It’s something to do with his secret project. I have done my best to show him that his more . . . direct means of extracting it won’t be necessary. With Catra’s lack of motivation, however, my approach was getting difficult to justify. I suggested that you be deployed early to give her some breathing room. But, if one of my wards proves to be a failure,” she flinched at the emphasis the witch put on that word.

“Well then I fear Hordak will question my judgement and decide to take drastic steps. Needless to say, she wouldn’t survive the process.” The threat hung in the air for several minutes, the silence only broken by the wolf’s sobs.

“I take it then that you are willing to reconsider?” Adora nodded desperately, unable to form the words. “Good. Adora, you have so much potential, even with your more animal instincts. It would be a shame to see it go to waste. Still, I believe you need some time to contemplate your mistakes. A week in solitary confinement should be enough. On quarter rations. I’ll inform Lord Hordak that you are being isolated for an infection you contracted before the mission. One that clouded your brain. Rabies perhaps. Your squad will be told the same. This . . . mistake of yours will remain between us. Understood?” She nodded again. “That’s the spirit.”

With that, a pair of soldiers marched into the chamber and dragged her to a dark, cramped cell.

After a few days alone, when the emptiness in her stomach was at its worst, she started talking to herself. “Dumb mutt. What were you thinking?” _Those towns reminded you of home. Those people were innocent too. You didn’t want to hurt them, just the Packs. The Horde shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t help them._

“And what about Catra? And the squad? What about them?” _You care about them, and she would have come with you_. Adora could imagine it. She’d promised to do the same for Catra if Shadow Weaver ever followed through on her threats. Maybe the squad could even smuggle them out before the sentence was carried out. They could all flee together. Still, she shook her head.

“She shouldn’t have to choose between Beast Island with me and the Fright Zone with Shadow Weaver.” _Not Beast Island then. Go back to the woods. Fight the Packs on your own. Be free._

“No.” They’d get caught. Between the Packs and Princesses, she couldn’t protect them all on her own. Only the Horde was strong enough to do that. With just Adora, she knew they would end up rotting in a Brightmoon cell, or much worse if the Packs got them first. She’d seen what they could do. She’d never get justice. Besides, even if they could eke out a living in the woods, Catra deserved better. Catra shouldn’t be running from the Horde, Catra should be running it. 

“We should be running this place.”

The thought hit her like a runaway skiff. For all their idle talk of ruling the world together, the two had mostly stuck to what they’d do if they were in charge of things. She’d never really thought about how they’d get there. But now, it was obvious. 

The next few days of silence were perfect for planning. It all seemed simple. Adora would do whatever the Horde asked, prove that she was a valuable asset, and beyond that, worthy of Hordak’s trust. If she could do that, then she could talk up Catra. Show Hordak her real potential. With her help, Catra could easily outshine Shadow Weaver. The apprentice surpassing the master and all that.

Once they were in charge, she’d stop the raids on civilian towns. Hit the Rebels directly. Face their armies in the field. She’d win this war, and take her revenge. Etheria would be at peace, and Catra would be safe. Between the two of them, they could change the Horde for the better. Everybody wins!

All she had to do was go on a few raids. It was wrong, she knew that, but really, that wasn’t her. It was the wolf doing all that. She was just following orders. The wolf was just a weapon. Adora wasn’t really responsible for what the wolf did on raids any more than a canon could be blamed for blasting whatever soldiers pointed it at. “Adora” could stay in the Fright Zone. She was the good one, the one that kept Catra safe, the one her squad looked up to. It wouldn’t be easy, but she could do it. She could be strong enough for both of them.

The next full moon, she didn’t hesitate. She showed no mercy. And the Rebels began hearing stories of a monster that made its home in the shadows of the Fright Zone. A bloodthirsty animal that ripped apart everything in its path. Even some Force Captains began to shudder when she passed them in the halls.

Pretty soon, everyone on Etheria feared the Beast of the Horde. Well, almost everyone.

** — — — — — 17 — — — — — **

Usually, Adora made a beeline for the showers after she got back from a raid. It was better to face the squad without the smell of blood on her. Catra always noticed and asked about it. This time, though, she let herself find Catra first. Their raiding party had run into a squad of Brightmoon Hunters. It seemed like the Rebels had wised up. They knew Adora was coming for them, and they started setting traps for the Beast. 

She smiled at the memory, rubbing her newly freed neck, fresh out of the shock collar. It had been a good fight, between the wolves with their armor and the human hunters with their silvered short swords and nets, the Rebels had been a real challenge. She always preferred even matches to . . . the usual rampages. Thanks to the Hunters now languishing in their cells, some of the dried blood on Adora’s uniform was her own for once. 

As she went through the halls, word of the raid had already spread. A few of the older senior cadets pumped fists and shouted “Beast Mode!” as she jogged by. Dumb as they were, she preferred them to the people who blanched like she was about to pounce on them. What did they have to be afraid of? The Beast was a monster, but she was the Horde’s monster. She knew her place.

Adora heard the argument before she rounded the corner. “For the hundredth time,” Catra growled. “I didn’t cheat! I earned that grade.”

“You expect me to believe you got the best score in your cohort fair and square?” Grizzlor growled back. “You spend half my class napping and the other half back-talking. Coming up against that exam, I’m sure a little black magic help must have been pretty tempting.” He leaned in closer. “So, just use that magic to help me solve a few problems I’ve been having with the other captains, and maybe I don’t go to Shadow Weaver with this.”

“Go to Shadow Weaver with what?” The wolf drawled, shocking both. “Catra! How was that Tactics exam?” You’ve been studying like crazy all week.” She turned to the Force Captain. She smiled, bearing her fangs. 

Grizzlor laughed nervously. “Uhh, I was going to Shadow Weave to . . . t-to tell her that her apprentice got the highest score in your cohort.” He slapped her shoulder. “Great job, cadet! Keep up the good work.” With that, he slunk away muttering angrily.

“Someone ought to muzzle that mutt,” he grumbled when he thought he was out of earshot. “What are we thinking, letting it run around like this?” Adora brushed it off. She was used to that kind of talk. At least it wasn’t to her face anymore, mostly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” the Magicat griped. “I don’t always need you to bail me out, you know?”

Adora threw an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, I know,” she responded. Adora suspected that if Catra got thrown hogtied in a pit in the Crimson Wastes in the morning, she’d be running the place by mid-afternoon. “That just makes the times I can help you special. Besides, are you really gonna deny me the look on Grizzlor’s face when I flashed the fangs?” They laughed. “You have to admit that was priceless.”

“Ok, that was pretty classic,” she admitted. “It is fun seeing the Captains freak out whenever you do that. Even if the new nickname is pretty dumb: The Beast! Seriously, was that the first thing they came up with?”

Adora laughed, a bit forced this time. “Yeah. The Rebels aren’t too creative, I guess. So,” she said to change the subject. “We still on for Grad Night? I’m sorry we had to miss the real one.” 

When cadets graduated from junior to senior rank, squads usually spent the night sneaking around the Fright Zone. They feasted on contraband and stayed up as long as they could. Then, at midnight, every Squad snuck into a forgotten storage bay in the oldest quarter of the Fright Zone and carved their names in the otherworldly, twisted metal walls. A sharp, broken diamond was left in the area by the Force Captains for that purpose on that night only.

Obviously, there were stricter than usual patrols stomping around the halls all night to discourage that sort of activity, and the penalties for being caught were public and severe. Grad Night was kind of a final exam in that respect. However, this year, it had fallen on a full moon. Despite her insistence, the squad had refused to celebrate without her.

“I mean I know we can’t carve our names in the same place as everyone else without that diamond,” she continued. “But we could always find a spot in the vents. Make a new tradition.”

“Yeah, no.” Catra responded. “I thought about that, but I decided that I would rather carve my name ten feet tall in that stupid storage bay.” She pulled out the diamond from her pocket. “And that I wanted to watch Grizzlor spend the next year panicking trying to find this!” 

“Woah!” Adora whistled. 

“Well, since you’re too busy being a people pleaser to plan a good party—“

“I am not a people pleaser!”

“Regardless, the responsibility to plan a banging Grad Night fell to me, and I took that obligation seriously.” A massive grin spread across her face. “On That note, last one to balcony has the hide the diamond when we’re done!” With that she took off, andAdora struggled to keep up, cackling with her all the way.

** — — — — — 19 — — — — — **

The attack on Thaymor was proceeding nicely. The timing was perfect, right in the midst of a festival. The Rebels were unprepared and unguarded. They were meeting no resistance. Good. She hated having to make an example out of anyone, even if it did tend to keep new acquisitions quiet. She had the soldiers focus their fire on non-essential buildings- homes, pavilions, and the like —anything the Horde wouldn’t be using when they moved in. A foothold this deep in the woods would be a dagger pointed at the heart of Brightmoon. 

Soon, all her work would pay off. Years of raids had weakened their borders. The Horde had pushed deeper and deeper into their territory, keeping the Rebels on the run. Shadow Weaver had been all too happy to boast of her ward’s achievements to Lord Hordak. Finally, after she proved herself in a siege that threw an unexpected, teleporting princess at them, Adora was finally the one calling the shots of the attack, Force Captain badge pinned proudly to her uniform. 

Adora knew that once they took Thaymor, Brightmoon would be soon to follow. Revenge was in her grasp. She briefly imagined confronting the wolf who turned her, its masters dead, the kingdom that harbored it burning around them. Would they beg for mercy? Would they remember her? Or would she just be another villager they left for dead in one of their reckless rampages? Whatever their reaction, Adora had vowed to keep the mutts from hurting anyone else. Keeping that vow would be her finest hour.

This moment would be perfect if she could ignore that nagging worry in the back of brain. Catra had disappeared the night before. She needed some alone time after finding out about her promotion — she was always sensitive about that stuff — but she seemed off. Adora knew Catra could take care of herself fine, but she still thought the Magicat had brain damage from that crash. The joyride had been worth the risk, seeing Catra laughing as the wind whipped through her mane. For a few minutes, it was just like they were kids again. As carefree as either of them could get.

But then, they crashed, and Catra started ranting about having seen something in the undergrowth. Adora knew magic occasionally messed with her head, much as Catra tried to hide it. She heard her mumbling strange names and night, tossing and turning as the visions rolled in. Sometimes, the wolf imagined coming face-to-face with Cyra, Mara, Light Hope, or any of the others and telling the phantoms to leave Catra alone. She had enough to deal with awake. 

Maybe the voices finally got to her. As far as she could tell, she may have actually gone back to look for that —

As if summoned by her thoughts, a tabby Magicat appeared in front of the tank, arms outstretched. “Stop!” She ordered.

Adora called a halt and jumped out of war machine. Ignoring the battle, she ran up and bear hugged the other girl. “Catra! What are you doing here? What’s that in your hair?” The girl blushed and ripped the pink flower out of her mane. 

“Adora you have to call off this attack!” She demanded.

Her eyes widened. “Why?” She asked quickly. “Is there a trap? Do the Rebels have an ambush prepared?” She glanced around, catching sight of a familiar sparkly figure, with a weird sword strapped to her back. “That’s one of the Rebel princesses! Catra, this is great! If we grab her before their army shows up, Hordak would promote you in a heartbeat!” Catra’s little impromptu spy mission had paid off. With this, they could end the war and upstage Shadow Weaver in one fell swoop. 

“What army?!” Catra shot back. “Look around, dumbass! This is a civilian town!”

Adora’s face hardened. “No,” she explained. “This is a Rebel town. One that harbors wolves and supports princesses — the same people who slaughtered my family, cursed me, and left me for dead. How’s that for innocent!”

Catra stepped back, shocked. “You knew?” She whispered.

“Oh come on, Catra!” She snapped. “You know better than anyone what the Horde is. What do you think I’ve been doing every full moon? Guard duty?” 

Catra flinched. “I thought you were better than them . . .”

Adora sighed. She had pushed too hard. “This is the price of justice, Catra.” She spoke more softly this time, she would understand. “Now, stand aside, and let me pay it.”

Before she could answer, an arrow blindsided the wolf, snaring her in a net. It didn’t restrain her long, and soon she was face-to-face with the archer, ready to introduce him to her stun prod when she heard Catra call out.

“For the Pride of Bast!” A wave of magic exploded from the voice. When she turned around, Catra was gone- replaced by an eight-foot tall warrior. A golden aura surrounded her giant self. Her stripped, tabby fur shone like each strand had been dipped in dark bronze. Her mane seemed longer; her mismatched eyes, highlighted by sparkling eyeshadow, shone like beacons. Her uniform was replaced with gleaming white armor, ankh symbol emblazons on the chest, and a flowing cape trailing down to elaborate, strapped sandals. A broad, gold and lapis lazuli collar adorned her neck and shoulders. In her hand was a great, curved scimitar with a fiery gem that matched the one in her now jet black mask.

Soldiers surged to attack the princess, but she knocked them back like they were nothing, moving so fast Adora could barely keep track of her. As the smoke cleared, she called the retreat, panicked. Catr— no! The Princess met her gaze, hurt and fear burning in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but Adora joined her soldiers and fled before she could speak.

Adora had failed her.

* * *

Shadow Weaver checked the Restraining Circle for weaknesses again.She discovered several she hadn’t seen in the last dozen go-rounds. Subtle mistakes, but sloppy. Predictable. She could tell decades ago that Castaspella would never be half the sorcerer her brother was. She couldn’t even measure up to the Magicat princess, Lyra. Not that Shadow Weaver planned on escaping. Another wave of withdrawal pains confirmed that she needed Catra’s help. Playing along with Adora’s scheme had given her the chance to stave off death for a little longer, but that had backfired severely. She knew her time was short. 

Knowing her, the Magicat would probably be sneaking in any moment to confront her, Queen’s orders be damned.

After all these years, her investment would finally pay off. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The soldiers hauled in the applesauce crate like it contained a live bomb, setting it down on her desk. They glanced at her expectantly. “Well,” she said, impatiently. “Open it.” They shared a worried look. “Is there a problem, cadet?”

“Uh,” the first solider stammered. “Well, uh-um it—“ The crate rattled. The soldiers struggled to keep the lid secure. Only loud hissing and the sound of desperate scratching escaped. “It bites, ma’am.”

“Get out of my sight,” she rasped in disgust. They made a break for the exit. How these incompetents managed to make any progress before her arrival was beyond the witch. With a flick of her wrist, a red static cloud gathered around the box. The contents yowled, then fell silent. “There now,” She crooned. “Isn’t that better?”

She lifted the lid to find a dazed tabby kitten lying in a linen blanket. The edges of its fur were singed, its coat covered in ash and sand. With its mismatched eyes half-closed, the kit almost seemed like it was napping peacefully, but its ears flicked and its tail twitched with pain.

“My my,” the witch hummed. “Aren’t you something special?” The magic from the Black Garnet seemed to pool around her. An innate connection with runestone energy! And in one so young. “I suppose that little vanishing act Halfmoon played on us rubbed off on you somehow. Fascinating.”

She reached a clawed finger toward the kit and removed a clay pendant from around her neck, snapping it in half. Inside was a rolled up ribbon of papyrus. “Such a strange tradition,” she muttered. “Keeping a child’s name secret for the first three years.” She could appreciate such paranoid precautions. Based on what she had learned of Halfmoon magic and Magicat politics, names were powerful things. The kit’s parents were right to be afraid. 

“At the Naming ceremony,” she continued, speaking as if the kit could understand. “The one who breaks the pendant is considered the child’s guardian. It seems I’ll have to fill the role.” She unrolled the ribbon and deciphered the hieroglyphs. A bowl, a vulture, and a setting sun followed by a symbol for the sun god. “Cat-Ra,” she read aloud. The kit immediately responded with a needy purr. Only her parents had said that name before. 

“Catra.” The witch picked her up, cradled her close, and watched as she fell asleep against her. Then, she glanced towards the crackling runestone. “I shall do great things with you.”


	2. The Rise of Catra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra grew up in Adora's shadow, until one day she found something in the Woods

**— — — 9 — — —**  
_The bar was dry and dusty, but between the cold night air drifting in and the stars shining through the torn canvas stretched across the prehistoric rib cage serving as a ceiling, the Magicat knew she had gotten drunk in worse places._  
  
_Not that she had time for drinking tonight, the hooded figure sliding into the seat next to theirs at the bar confirmed that. This was strictly business. “Evening,” the newcomer said, keeping her eyes straight ahead, not meeting her gaze. “I heard you work in acquisitions.”_  
  
_“Yeesh,” the Magicat responded with an eye roll. She turned to her. “What is it with you First Ones and dancing around the point? Here, let me show you how it’s done.” She took a swig of her drink and gestured to her neighbor. “Mara of Squadron Greyskull, hero of the Battle of Krytis. Transferred to a Top Secret military research project on Etheria three months ago. Now seeking a contractor for a sensitive ‘acquisition’”. She pointed to herself. “Cyra, best thief in the Crimson Waste, at your service.”_  
  
_The First One looked stunned, then glanced around. “For a good thief you aren’t exactly concerned about—“_  
  
_“Oh, please,” she interrupted. “If we downed all the booze in the bar, we’d still be the soberest bums in the room. We can be honest be each other.”_  
  
_Mara turned her drink over in her hands. “Alright then. Halfmoon is holding out on us. We need the Sword: the blade shards, the hilt, the Crimson Catseye, all of it.”_  
  
_The Magicat’s grin vanished. “That Sword isn’t some sack of jewels. It’s a precious relic of our culture,” she growled. “And y-you think I’ll just hand it over!” She shouted near the end, drawing a few looks from the other side of the room. She leaned in and whispered. “You can’t just take that from us.”_  
  
_The First One took a swig from her drink and gestured to the Magicat. “Cyra the Second of the House Dilruth. Last living member of the same after your family was betrayed by the current Queen Nefertiti. Owner of the Sword of the Protection by right.” The Magicat suppressed a gasp. She hadn’t heard her full name in years. Mara smiled. “You aren’t the only one who likes to do their research.”_  
  
_She turned on the stool to face her openly. “The Horde is coming. Without Halfmoon’s help, Etheria is doomed. That Sword should be in the hands of someone protecting this planet, not gathering dust in a usurper’s throne room.” She paused. “It should be in your hands, Princess. Once we reforge it for you.”_  
  
_The Magicat brooded in silence for several minutes before speaking. “Once I bring it out of Halfmoon, the Sword never leaves my sight. Whatever you do with it, you explain — no doubletalk or techno babble. Whatever questions I ask, you answer. No secrets, no lies. Nothing gets done to the Sword that I don’t approve of first.”_  
  
_Mara nodded. “You have my word.” She extended a hand, and Cyra grasped it in return._  
  
Catra woke up with her blanket kicked off and Adora holding her wrists together. She hissed and backed into the headboard. Adora started rambling. “I’m sorry. You were talking in your sleep again and the last time you did that you ripped up your sheets and Shadow Weaver got mad at all of us and I didn’t want you to get in trouble again and I know this is breaking the personal space rule and—“ she ran out of breath.  
  
Catra’s glare didn’t change. After a few moments, she piped up again. “Is having bad dreams against the rules? I promise, I won’t tell anyone.”  
  
Catra sighed and let her join her at the top of the bed. “Weakness is against the rules.”  
  
“Oh,” she nodded. “But everyone has bad dreams. That doesn’t make you weak.” After a few months in the Fright Zone, Adora was still getting the hang of it. All her instructors thought she had the perfect attitude — she worked like her life depended on it, never talked back, and never talked about her old family (a common problem among Acc-Acc kids). But every once and while, she‘d say something to Catra that reminded her that she didn’t really belong there.  
  
“They aren’t all bad dreams,” she whispered. This one was good. She liked being Cyra. She was strong, smart, and brave; she did whatever she wanted and made a fool of anyone who tried to stop her. “It’s just . . . I don’t react to them well. And I usually have them after . . .” Her lessons.  
  
Adora wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Are they magic?”  
  
“I don’t want to talk about them!” She snapped.  
  
“Ok,” Adora chirped, quick to move on once Catra made her boundaries clear. “I heard some of the Force Captains were playing cards in Bay H-4. Do you wanna go watch?” It was late. She should really go back to sleep, but on nights like this, Catra knew there would just be more dreams, and those only made her more tired.  
  
Besides, on nights before a full moon Adora got hyperactive. That usually led to some quality pranks.  
  
**— — — 14 — — —**  
Catra hated magic. In fact, she’s certain it was the first thing she learned to hate properly. When Shadow Weaver wasn’t boiling her blood and burning her bones with the stuff, she was doing it to herself in their lessons. At the moment, she was struggling to carve a truth spell in the air. Each flick of her claw felt like pushing through molten iron. She could feel the magic fighting against her, rejecting her, trying to make her quit. The Black Garnet was like its master in that way.  
  
Said master was brooding the corner. Shadow Weaver had been quieter than usual that evening. Normally, the witch hovered over her apprentice, correcting her form, pointing out errors, and accusing her of slacking off. Catra didn’t mind. The silence was more unsettling, but it was as close to approval as Catra got.  
  
“Your instructors have informed me that your scores have been greatly improving in the last quarter,” she drawled. Catra’s ears pricked up. “Of course, with how poorly you were performing, ‘greatly’ is a relative term.” She faltered with the next stroke, earning a sharp shock from the rune.  
  
Shadow Weave tsked and stalked closer. “A sorceress cannot afford to lose focus, Catra. You’re manipulating the fabric of creation, not scratching doodles on the nursery walls.”  
  
She suppressed a growl and started again. This time, she made faster progress. Spite was her best motivator.  
  
As she worked, the communicator on the wall fizzled to life. Catra ignored it. She had spent years working through Weaver’s conversations. She got some great gossip that way. Ever since she was little, adults had spoken like she wasn’t there, unless they were yelling at her that is. She had a front row seat to every power play, backstabbing, and alliance in the Fight Zone.  
  
“Shadow Weaver.” A metallic voice growled. Catra’s heart stopped — Hordak.  
  
“Lord Hordak.” He’d caught her off guard. “Forgive me, I was expecting you later—“  
  
“I received the _corrections_ to last week’s incident report,” he interjected. “Tell me. Why did you send your ward to the field if she was so thoroughly compromised?”  
  
“I did not recognize the extent of her condition,” she replied smoothly. “The symptoms were minor at the time, and she concealed them from me. Believe me, my Lord, had I known—“  
  
“It was your job to know!” He shouted. “You failed! And that failure cost us critical progress in the war. Your ward disobeyed orders, attacked our soldiers, and let the Rebels undo months of hard-earned gains. All because you didn’t notice she had rabies! So tell me why I should continue to support this project?”  
  
“From my research, werewolves only contract this condition once and then gain immunity. No other conditions can disable their faculties. The infection will be long gone by the next full moon. I’ve already developed a significantly stronger shock collar to keep her in line, and I guarantee the handlers will make good use of it. Trust me, my Lord. Adora will not fail us again.” Her voice dropped. “I will make sure of it.”  
  
“It will be your head if she does.” With that, the communicator died.  
  
Through all that, possibly powered by schadenfreude, Catra had made quick progress. Catra had heard about the incident last week. Apparently, after the Force Captains set Adora on guard duty for some fort — or whatever it is she does on full moons now that Shadow Weaver deemed her “ready to serve” — she got hit with a case of rabies just in time for a Rebel assault. She’d been in isolation ever since they got back.  
  
Catra had gotten back to the same spot in the rune, only a few strokes away from finishing. That’s when she felt the cold tip of a dagger press against her throat. She froze and felt the magic fade. “Keep going.” Her teacher ordered. As she struggled to make the motions, Weaver spoke slowly. “Magic is a powerful thing, but those who use it can be . . . fragile.”  
  
She pushed the dagger closer. “We aren’t like Adora, child. We can only endure so much before we break. If you plan on surviving, you must have someone to watch your back.” Catra was almost there. A few more seconds. “It took me years to build my wall of alliances, and even they aren’t always enough. Count yourself lucky. All you had to do to get a bodyguard was let the mutt imprint on you.”  
  
The completed rune flew from her fingertips into the door. Her throat dried up. She was shocked. Catra had heard plenty of officers call Adora a mutt before, often to her face, but Shadow Weaver never talked about Adora that way. She was the golden child. Almost since her first day in the Fright Zone, every other word out of Shadow Weaver’s mouth was “Why can’t you be more like Adora, you disappointing furball?” It was deeply unsettling, but as worried as she was, a small, dark corner of her heart soared to hear her rival put down like that.  
  
“Imprint?” She blurted out, hoping to bury the traitorous feeling. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“I’d have thought the topic would have been covered in Biology,” she explained. “But perhaps it was a sensitive subject for the orphans. Among some creatures in the wild, it is common for young to develop a strong psychological attachment to pack-mates at birth, and to the parents in particular. It seems when werewolves transform for the first time, the sensory and psychological intensity of the experience causes them to undergo a similar process. You did spend the most time with Adora the night her affliction first manifested.”  
  
“That’s the best explanation I can imagine, anyway.” She said with a pointed glare. “The girl has an . . . inexplicable desire to defend you, even at substantial personal cost. And if my more promising ward must be burdened with such an instinct,” she drew up closer. “Then at the very least, I expect the lesser to take full advantage of it to . . . make up the difference. You will be ready to cast that spell in your sleep next week. Once Adora has recovered, you’ll have no excuse for slacking off on your studies. Covering for you might make staying at the top of the class a challenge, but she has too much time to spare already.”  
  
“And if your pride won’t allow you to ask for her help,” the Garnet sparked behind them, “then I will humble you. Have I made myself clear?”  
  
She clenched her fists behind her back. “Yes, Shadow Weaver,” she mumbled. With a nod of her head, the witch dismissed her.  
  
**— — — 15 — — —**  
  
The wolf chained in the Black Garnet chamber was clearly exhausted. She’d been in Horde custody for a week, and it looked like she hadn’t slept once in that time. Piercing blue irises stood out against the bloodshot whites of her eyes. Corse, dark, tangled red hair hung limply at her shoulders, framing her pale face. Patches of dried blood stood out on her strange clothes.  
  
Still, through all the torture, she had refused to give up any information on the Rebels and their plans. She hadn’t even given them her name. Even Shadow Weaver failed to break her.  
  
In other circumstances, Catra might have respected her for that. She might have pitied the forty-something for enduring the kind of pain she was all too familiar with. But, as much as Catra resented Shadow Weaver calling her in from medic training for this interrogation, she hated this wolf. She’d mauled Adora last week while she was on guard duty in Plumeria. Even with her healing factor, the marks left by her claws were bound to scar. She’d be sleeping on her stomach for weeks after what this mutt’s claws did to her back. This was personal.  
  
Sure, Catra was no fool. She knew the Horde wasn’t engaged in a glorious campaign to bring peace and order. Plenty of people across Etheria had a reason to hate them and the right to fight back. Hell, if this woman had mauled Octavia, Catra probably would have high-fived her. But she didn’t attack some jerk Force Captain; she attacked Adora. She was different. That dork just spent full moons protecting patrols and forts. If the Horde ever tried to get that dork to attack some random village, her hero complex would never allow it, Wolf-brain or not.  
  
When Catra approached, the wolf looked up and grinned. “So, this whole time, the Mystacorian’s secret weapon was a Magicat.” She threw back her head and laughed. “That’s perfect! Seriously, between the Beast and the Scorpion is this where the Horde sticks all the traitors they can’t trust?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Catra shot back. “Is your pack where they stick all the losers that get captured?”  
  
Before she could get a reprimand for speaking to the prisoner, she laughed again. “You’re actually on to something there, kid; really, surprisingly accurate. Well done. But I’m not part of a pack. I’m not part of the Packs. I work alone. Something your master refuses to believe no matter how many times I explain it to her!” The etherial chains binding her sparked red, engulfing her in a cloud of static. Her body convulsed, and her face twisted in pain.  
  
“Silence, prisoner.” Shadow Weaver hissed. She cut off the spell after a few seconds. In her condition, the woman couldn’t take much more. “This is your last chance. Lord Hordak will be more merciful if you cooperate willingly. Perhaps you could even be spared from . . . Beast Island.”  
  
The prisoner turned to Catra, grin returning. “Is she always this bad at lying?” She asked in a stage whisper. “Or have I just really knocked her off her game?” She returned her attention to Shadow Weaver. “And Beast Island? Went there once upon a time. Nice beaches, lots of trash. Nothing I can’t handle.”  
  
Shadow Weaver, with barely restrained rage at her insolence, nodded to Catra. The apprentice flashed a truth spell together in moments, and the rune flew into her chest. The prisoner’s grin didn’t falter. She raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? So is this a delayed action thing or—“  
  
“What. Is. Your. Name.” Shadow Weaver interjected through grinding teeth. Catra flinched. It was instinct. When Shadow Weaver sounded half that frustrated, usually she was about to get zapped.  
  
“Marlena.” The prisoner responded immediately, much to her own surprise. Catra thought the name sounded familiar. For a moment, with her eyes wide with shock and the slightest touch of fear, Catra thought she looked familiar too.  
  
“Of what pack?” Weaver questioned, not wasting a moment of the spell’s effect. “What is your surname?”  
  
This time she tried to resist, but she could only held back for a second. “I’m not part of a pack. I was formally disowned by my old family, and Randor hated his family enough to disown them so I didn’t take his when we got married. Legally, ‘of Etheria’ is what you’d go with since that’s the planet I was disowned on.”  
  
Catra decided that the week of torture and exhaustion had clearly screwed with her head. The truth spell could only compel you to say what you thought was true, so if your head was full of nonsense it nonsense would come out. Shadow Weaver, apparently undeterred by that stream of consciousness, forged on. “What is the Rebellion planning in Plumeria?” She demanded.  
  
“I don’t know. I’m not with them. I was in Plumeria because I heard the Beast would be there and I wanted to end that runty, Horde-loving traitor myself. Whatever they told you to get you to hire them was exaggerated by the way. Seriously, if I didn’t know any better I’d assume you just sent a teenage pup to the field and called it a day.”  
  
Catra was about to interject, but Shadow Weaver spoke first. “And all the other attacks you have carried out on Horde fortifications, supply caravans, and patrols, those were all . . . lone wolf operations as well?”  
  
“Yes,” a hint of pride carried in her voice. “All me. No one else. Glad to know I’ve been causing enough damage to gain a reputation.”  
  
“If you simply wish to strike against the Horde, joining the Rebellion would be more efficient.” Shadow Weaver responded, snakelike. “Why work alone? Is it personal?”  
  
Marlena writhed in place, struggling to keep the words in. “Y-yes. It is.” She tried to end the answer there, but the words kept coming. “You monsters burned Greyskull — my friends, my husband, my daughter.” Tears were streaming down her face. “All gone. All because of you! You led them to us! Then your goons razed everything that was left. I couldn’t even find their bodies. I couldn’t—“ her voice choked off.  
  
“I couldn’t say goodbye to them,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t say I was sorry . . . for not keeping them safe.” Catra recognized that tone, regret and grief mixed with self-loathing. It was bizarre to hear it in a voice other than Adora’s. Remembering that her friend was currently running a training course with a shredded back helped her push down the urge to comfort the wolf.  
  
Shadow Weaver was silent for a few moments, contemplating something. “Hmm,” She mumbled. “Could it be . . . impossible, but perhaps . . .” She turned to Catra. “Go.”  
  
Catra hesitated. “The rest of this does not concern you. Leave. Now.” Catra knew better than to make her repeat herself. With one last lingering look at the prisoner, she slunk away. The cadets guarding the chamber doors killed any hope of eavesdropping. Part of Catra was glad for it. The longer she thought about that woman, the more she felt like she was missing something.  
  
So, Catra headed to Training Sector Y-9 where Adora was spending the morning. Whenever Shadow Weaver summoned her, instructors never dared ask how long she would be gone. If she played her cards right, she could get the rest of the day off. And if Weaver suddenly needed to see Adora . . . well, then no one would be looking for them all day. And the balcony was really such a better place to spend it.  
  
Later that evening, watching the sunset and sharing a bundle of contraband tree rations with her best friend, Catra knew she made the right call. Even Adora had to agree.  
  
**— — — 19 — — —**  
  
“Why are you still here?” The princess demanded, still panting from the effort of teleporting the three of them out that death trap.  
  
Catra blinked in response. The last six hours had been weird. First, the weird dreams. Then, the Sword. Then, these two. Then, woosh! She was really tall. Add on the weird hieroglyphs she could read all of a sudden, and she was starting to think Adora was right about the brain damage.  
  
“I’m your prisoner,” she replied. “Do I have to explain what that means? What is this the first time you Rebels have managed to capture someone?”  
  
“Oh that explains it!” Sparkles shot back. “With a crack security team like us on the case, obviously the trained Horde spy doesn’t stand a chance of escaping!”  
  
“I’m not a Horde spy!” Catra yelled. “I’m not a Horde anything, and I don’t want to be. I don’t want to go back!”  
  
They both looked shocked. Catra was too. Where did that come from? Arrows spoke first. “You mean you want to defect?” He asked hopefully. Catra didn’t think anyone but Adora could make puppy dog eyes like that.  
  
“No. I don’t— Er, I can’t— its just.” She rubbed her temples in frustration. “When I lifted that sword,” she said pointing to the weapon strapped on the princess’ back. “It felt— I don’t know . . . _right_.” It was the first time magic didn’t hurt. “It was like . . .” It was like her feet sprouted roots that went down to the planet’s core. It was like her arms stretched to the roof of the sky. It was like cool stream soothed her boiling blood, repairing all her scars.  
  
“It was like it wanted me,” she finished, explaining it to herself as much as to the Rebels. “And if I go back to the Fright Zone now, I’ll never know why.”  
  
Arrows approached, putting a cautious hand on her shoulder, like she might bite if he got too close. A fair concern considering the scratches on his arms from earlier. “We can help you find out. Glimmer’s mom knows more about First Ones Tech and Halfmoon than anyone.  
  
“You guys routinely help Horde cadets with magical research projects?” she asked with an eye roll.  
  
“Yeah,” Sparkles snarked back without missing a beat. “But only the part-time Princesses who come with powerful pieces of First One Tech attached. So, the policy doesn’t come up much.”  
  
Catra grinned in spite of herself. Point to Sparkles. Maybe this side trip wouldn’t be so bad.  
  
As they made their way through the woods, she wondered how to play this. She meant it when she said she wasn’t going back to the Horde, but there was one person she couldn’t leave behind. Adora was getting sent to take out some Rebel fort later that day. Maybe Catra could track her down there.  
  
A few hours with these two, and Catra was starting to doubt the Horde’s story. The few ruined towns they had passed in the Woods all had Horde wings branded on the rubble. No marks or other signs of wolves to be seen. Sparkles and Arrows claimed the Packs weren’t their allies; and that would be a stupid thing to lie about. Alliances between nations couldn’t exactly be kept secret.  
  
She knew they were wrong about a lot. If they really thought Adora — no, The Beast of the Horde as they called her — was some bloodthirsty monster, then the Horde wasn’t the only side with good propaganda. Still, maybe they were a better bet than the Horde, at least until she figured out this Sword thing.  
  
After that, Adora wouldn’t join the Rebels, but Catra knew she could get her to leave the Horde. Now that she was a Force Captain, she’d see what “bringing order to Etheria” really involved. Once Adora saw what the Horde was doing to villages just like hers, it would crush her. But Catra would be there to help. She’d butter up these Rebels, get some answers, find out what this magic was, and be ready to make a place for her and Adora away from either side. Catra could be the hero for once.  
  
They could find the wolves that attacked her village together. They strike back against the Horde. They could do whatever they wanted. They could be free.  
  
She cherished the image all the way until they reached Thaymor.  
  


* * *

  
  
Angella knew that it was only a matter of time before Catra managed to break into the Spare Room. After the week they’d had, Glimmer’s capture, the raid on the Fright Zone, and . . . whatever had happened between her and Adora, Catra needed to feel in control. Angella understood that instinct all too well.  
  
But, she also understood how skilled Light Sp— Shadow Weaver was at manipulation. She-Ra or not, she didn’t want to let Catra get hurt again. And she failed. Because Angella always failed to keep those she cared about safe.  
  
The witch was honest with them. Under Catra’s truth spell, she didn’t hesitate to reveal her intentions. Even with Adora now allegedly on the run, Shadow Weaver had no place in the Horde anymore. Aiding Brightmoon was her only chance of surviving in the long term, and Catra was her only hope of living past sunrise. She admitted that she could drain the Crimson Cateseye like she did the Black Garnet, but like she said, she was playing the long game. “We who use magic can be fragile,” she had said, eyes locked on Catra.  
  
It all went wrong when Catra demanded the truth about her origins. Shadow Weaver had told her she was abandoned, thrown away, unwanted. The Queen could hear the desperation in her voice as she shouted at the witch, and she could hear her heart shatter when she just said the same thing again.  
  
_“You weren’t found on the outskirts of the city,” she had explained. “My agents discovered you in the center. The First Ones worked with your ancestors to create their technology. She-Ra served as the gatekeeper of the planet’s portals. Once the royal family discovered Catra’s destiny, they used her as an escape route, opening a portal for the whole city, and left her to her fate.”_  
  
Angella wanted to demand how the witch knew any of this, but before she could, Catra raced out of the room. Comforting Catra was more important than bashing that mask into Shadow Weaver’s damned face, much as she would have liked to do that.  
  
The Queen found Catra on a unused balcony, staring out into the Woods. She briefly wondered if she was looking for her . . . for whatever Adora was to her. While she wasn’t supposed to know what Catra did for the Beast, Glimmer was not as subtle as she thought she was. Reluctantly, she had instructed the Hunters in private that they were to bring Adora in alive if they found her, no lethal force was authorized.  
  
She approached the princess from behind, but the shift in her posture let the Queen know that she was aware of her presence. She stood up straighter, tried to look less vulnerable. Angella knew she would have to handle this delicately.  
  
“For what it’s worth,” she began, coming up beside her. “I think the bitch doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Catra nearly jumped out of her skin. “I haven’t used profanity in the last two centuries,” she explained. “So forgive me if I made an error in usage.”  
  
Catra still looked like she was in shock. Hopefully that meant she was listening. “I don’t think she could conceive of anyone viewing their child as more than a tool,” the Queen continued. “But that’s her failing. Your mother and Micha were good friends; she wasn’t permitted to leave Halfmoon after her marriage, but they shared many letters.” She smiled sadly at the memory. “If I recall correctly, many of them were about her daughter.”  
  
Catra seemed to have recovered from the shock, but she was still listening intently. Angella cautiously shuffled closer. “Lyra and Cairo loved you very much, Catra. I’m certain of that. Read the letters for yourself if you don’t believe me.”  
  
The princess was silent for a few minutes before turning her gaze back to the horizon. “Then why did they leave me behind?” She asked quietly. The bold girl had never looked so small.  
  
“You won’t find out the truth by listening to Shadow Weaver,” the Queen responded. “You’ve learned so much about She-Ra in the last year, maybe it’s time you started learning more about yourself. And no matter what, Glimmer, Bow, I and the whole Alliance, will be here for you.”  
  
For a few moments, Catra was quiet again as she processed all this. Then, swiftly, as if she was afraid she’d lose her nerve if she hesitated, Catra spun around and hugged her. “Thank you,” Catra whispered, her voice ragged.  
  
The Queen was stunned for a moment, then hugged her back. They stayed like that for a few minutes until Catra pushed away, wiping her tears. “Now,” the Queen asked, “if you would do me the favor of not sharing my attempt at casual profanity with Glimmer, I would appreciate it.”  
  
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Catra lied obviously, sliding back into her snarky self. But Angella had no regrets.  
  
She was just glad that for once, she had made Catra remember that she was wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave a kudos or comment. Comments of all stripes make my day, and keep me writing. I really played around with worldbuilding here, so feedback on that would be good; plus any notes you have on Catra's characterization. 
> 
> Apologies. I didn't think this would be a two-parter, but this just came out. I promise, we'll get to the Crimson Waste road trip eventually. I want to write that banter!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you had fun. If you did, please leave a kudos or a comment. They keep me writing when the ideas seem to be running dry. Every one of them makes my day! I promise.
> 
> Whew. This was fun to write! Hope you like pain and fluff and then more pain! I’ve had these scenes kicking around in my head for a while, so I can’t wait to hear what you think of them. I really wanted to focus on how Adora became the Beast. Let me know what you think! Comments of ALL kinds (predictions, analysis, ficlefs, inchoherent screams, etc) are welcome and wanted!!! 
> 
> Next time, we get back to the present as Catra and the gang join the wolf in the Crimson Waste searching for answers. Until then, thank you for reading, kudosing, and commenting!


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